The BubbleGum Jar
by BrokenNevermore
Summary: Chewing gum for the mind! A collection of 5 minute ficlettes and oneshots for your enjoyment! Based mainly on the life and emotions of Raven. BBxRae Number 13 up! Sum: What's this? Missing laundry?
1. Happy

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans

A/N- Just a little POV of Happy and how it must suck to only be able to feel one emotion all the time.The first of numerous other ficlettes, oneshots, or POVs to come. Let me know what you think!

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The sky is blue, the trees are pink, and it smells like strawberries. I like it. It makes me feel happy. I am happy. I'm always happy. I'm sitting by the lake fishing with a tree branch and some string I found. The water is a pretty blue, and the fish are even prettier. This is my home and I'm Happy. Sometimes I'm other things too. I can be Joy, Laughter, Optimism, Fun, Pleasure. At least that's what Knowledge tells me.

I glance behind me to look at her sitting underneath a giant tree. A giant purple tree and the only one like it in my realm. She comes here sometimes to do her research or just to read. Right now she's busy going through a big book. I like books. Picture books with a lot of color and funny things. They make me happy when I look at them.

I have other names. Things that they call me, sometimes in a whisper or really loud in my face. Pest, Brat, Stupid, Immature, Airhead. Knowledge tells me that these words are negative. She says I should tell them not to say words like that. I don't understand though because they make me happy. Not as happy, but happy either way.

A fish swims by so close and I jerk the string in excitement. Now I've scared it and it swims away to the center of the lake where it knows it can't be caught. But that's okay. There's a lot more and I like watching the fish and the water.

I have a different name too. I don't know why it's different. It just feels special when I whisper it to myself. It made me so happy when I first heard it, happier than anytime I could remember. I was called: Friend. I like the word, and I like the person that said it even more. I called him Friend. My Friend.

The memory makes me giggle so hard that I almost lose the fishing rod as a fish bites. It's exciting, and I can't help but give a little scream as the fish comes flying up out of the lake right into the green grass by my feet. It's a pretty lime color with some blue scales scattered around its head. I stare at it with a smile, and my heart beats hard against my chest. The fish is trying to swim in the grass. Its mouth is making a kissing motion and pretty soon I'm laughing and imitating it.

"Knowledge!" I scream. She should see this. Maybe it'll make her happy like me. Her face looks up from the book and I pick up the squirming fish to show it to her. She doesn't smile, but looks slightly impressed.

"Very good. Now put it back in the water before it dies." I nod. Dead fish aren't as fun. So I give it a kiss before throwing it back in the water. A small spray hits my face, and I laugh and fall over. I'm so happy! Rolling onto my stomach, I look into the rippling water and see my own face. There's my pink cloak, and my smile, but something catches my attention. My cheek is wet from the splash. It reminds me of something. I hum happily, and see the way my cheek is all shiny from the wetness. And then I know.

It reminds me of Timid.

Her cheeks are always shiny like this and sometimes it's shiny right underneath her nose too. I remember Timid told me what is was. She called it: Tears. I smile. Tears are pretty.

I take a finger and dip it in the water and dot another one on my face. It's cold and it tickles as it drops down my face. I laugh and dab more on until I have a whole bunch running down my cheeks. Tears make me so happy! It must be fun to be Timid and to be able to cry all the time. I want to be her. I want to be sad. Grinning, I dab some more Tears on my face and then I stick out my lower lip right like Timid does. I can even make it shake a little bit like hers does when she cries. Perfect. I stand up and shuffle over to the purple tree with my new face.

"Look Knowledge. I'm Timid." I tell her trying to imitate Timid's whine. She looks up at me through her glasses and I can tell she's thinking.

"You do indeed have a few similarities in appearance." She tells me. I nod and try imitating a whimper. The sound feels so funny coming out of my mouth that soon I'm rolling on the grass laughing, with my sides in stitches.

"I wish I could be sad." I tell Knowledge after I can speak again. "It's so fun and it makes me so happy!" Her figure sits up a little straighter and she lowers her book. I know she's going to say something important so I cross my legs and listen.

"And that is exactly why you cannot be Timid. Timid exists to represent Raven's sadness, her fears, her doubts, and her insecurities, and it is because of this that she feels things that are different than you. It is simply her nature to be sad as it is mine to learn and understand. We are like a filing cabinet for Raven's emotions. She organizes her feelings by using us as physical representations for them. Rage is responsible for her anger and hatred, I for her memory and information, and Timid for her sadness. You on the other hand can only feel happiness. You are not designed to know what sadness feels like. It is simply impossible." She pauses and I grin. I like it when Knowledge talks to me.

"Do you understand?" She asks me while wiping her glass on the hem of her yellow cloak.

"No."

I don't understand and that makes me happy.

I hear her sigh as a butterfly catches my attention. It's so pretty and fun looking. I want to chase it. Wings flutter by my face as it darts off and I jump up to dash after it. But there's something bothering me and I stop.

"Knowledge, you know everything right?" I ask her.

"I know everything Raven does." She replies with a small bob of her head. I pause and look out at my world, so bright and happy and wonderful. Then I turn to face my yellow doppelganger.

"Do you know what it feels like… to be happy?"

She hesitates, and searches my eyes like she's lost or confused, but all I can give her is a smile.

"No… No I do not." She tells me quietly. I nod then go over to peck her on the cheek hoping that my kiss does not smell like fish. Skipping off to find my butterfly, I laugh and let my joy overwhelm me.

It is the happiness of Timid, Wisdom, Knowledge, Crass, Affection, Bravery, and even Rage… but it is mine to feel.


	2. Hickey

**Disclaimer**: See previous disclaimer

**AN**: I've finally got it written out! This idea has been floating around in my head for the past week or so. I was just too lazy to sit down and type it out, but now… Oh yes this is gonna be good…

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"Ah shit…" 

The word kissed the mirror, painting a thin layer of moisture over it. Garfield grumbled in agitation as he brought up his green palm to wipe it across the foggy surface. He was left with a small circle, slightly smudged and in it was the reflection of an emerald man with wet hair and a sour face. His feet shifted on the cold tile floor as he bent in for a closer look,this time taking carethat he didn't breathe on the glass.

The odd angle of his neck exaggerated the muscles and tendons beneath his green skin, stretching it taunt and smooth over each curve and dip. But then there was that obscenity, painted a screaming red-brown on his perfect complexion. He ran a thumb over it, muttered under his breath, and stood back to see how noticeable it was.

'Not too bad' He thought.

'About as noticeable as Raven in pink tutu…

…singing…

…with sparklers…'

Gar sighed and shook his head.

Of course it was a relatively small price for him to pay for the great night he had. Terra had been all over him, her hot little mouth devouring every inch of his body before finally latching on to leave her signature. It wasn't like he minded too much, but it was uncomfortable.

The mark would stand out like a red beacon at the breakfast table, each pair of eyes flicking towards it occasionally and raising suspicion in their minds. Robin would grin in his secret sort of way, Starfire would shoot him her knowing little glances and smiles, and Cyborg- Cyborg would rip him to shreds with his sexual innuendos and puns. Not just during breakfast either, oh no, this would be a drawn out series of affairs that would have him dreading each day for the next few months. Gar grumbled and wrapped a white cotton towel around his torso.

But even that he could deal with really. Besides a slightly bruised ego, and a few blows to his pride, there was something worse. It came in the disguise of a 5' 4" purple haired empath with a taste for books and herbal tea. And it called itself Guilt. Raven would not give him a teasing smile, she would not make some crass comment, or more or less acknowledge the little scarlet letter on his neck. Instead she would sit there quietly and sip her tea as if he did not exist.

It shamed him, flooded him with a confusing feeling of regret as if he had wronged her in some fashion. Her normal detached attitude and silence that had originally bugged him would now drive him insane. For some reason, her silence spoke louder than the laughter or taunts. But who was he to feel guilty? Terra _was_ his girlfriend after all. They were 18, and responsible enough for an intimate relationship. So why the hell did this little splotch on his neck make him feel like the lowest, dirtiest person in the world?

Angrily he grabbed the soiled uniform before heading towards the door. It slid open and suddenly he was face to face with a most surprised Raven. It all happened in less than a second. The clothes dropped from grasp, his hand flew to his neck, but her eyes got there first before his fingers could clamp over the scandalous mark. And then they were standing there, both breathing hard, both blushing, and her eyes determinately fixed somewhere behind his head.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, not sure whether he was apologizing for running into her or for the mark.

"It's fine." She told him in an eerily calm voice. Had he not know her better Gar would have thought she really was okay. Raven stepped past him, avoiding his touch like an electric fence, or some toxic substance, and then he opened his mouth.

"Hey Rae?" She stopped rigid as a board mid-stride, before responding with a quiet yet sharp: "What?"

"Can I ask you a small favor?" She sighed and turned around still avoiding his pleading gaze and instead focusing somewhere on his forehead. It frustrated him to an unbelievable degree.

"What do you need?" Was her reply. He hesitated, fully aware that she was upset, and fully aware that he was in nothing but a towel.

"Can you heal… this?" He asked softly, before gently prying his hand off the hickey. She didn't say anything, but merely stood there in a way that would put a British palace guard to shame.

"Rae?" He asked, stepping a little closer. "I know it bothers you, but it's embarrassing and I just don't wanna have to deal with Cyborg and the rest of them…" He trailed off and she blinked.

"Please?" His voice cracked. Raven responded, a stone figure suddenly come to life.

"Fine." She sighed. "Just come here in the light so I can see it properly." A silent breath of relief escaped his lungs and he followed Raven into the bathroom. He stood next to the sink, under the light while Raven cocked her head to see it. She nodded, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Gar watched her focus, watched the lines disappear from her forehead, watched her mouth settle into the closest thing he had seen to a smile.

She was nice to do this for him. He knew she didn't like Terra, and he knew part of her disapproved of their relationship. Was it because of Terra's betrayal? Was it because of Terra's personality? Or dare he think it, was it jealousy? His thoughts were cut off as Raven's hand was coated in blue magic and her eyes fluttered open. She brought it to his neck slowly, and Garfield became aware that his breathing had gone shallow. Cool fingertips settled on his skin, shy fingertips. Violet eyes flicked upward and finally met his with a burst of emotion that left his head reeling, and his skin covered in goose-bumps, and then… nothing. Complete blackout.

TT

A groan wrung itself from his lips. He was on a cold floor, head resting on an equally cold wall.

"Gar?" He stirred at the sound of his name, suddenly aware of another presence nearby and of the pounding in his skull.

"Whaa..?" His eyes fluttered open and were met with a blurred image. There was a hand on his shoulder, a face staring into his, and a collage of color and shapes and then it all melted into one worried Raven.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, sitting back on her knees now that he had woken. Gar released another soft groan.

"Headache." He gasped as his hand pressed a temple. Raven nodded, biting her lip, and his hand fell away. Gar blinked suddenly noticing her flushed face and her worried expression, knowing something had gone wrong.

"What happened? Did it work?" He asked sitting up against the tiled wall.

"I tried, and for some reason you reacted badly to my powers. As you can probably guess, you passed out. It's probably responsible for your headache as well, but that'll go away in about an hour or so." Raven explained. She stood up and offered him a hand which he took gratefully. After regaining his balance and readjusting his towel, Gar stepped over to the mirror for a look, and winced slightly. The mark was still there. Red and noticeable as ever. He touched it and was surprised to feel it throb freshly under his fingers.

Odd.

"I'm sorry." He turned to see Raven staring at him uncomfortably. "I've only made it worse it seems, but if you really want I can try again." She offered, coming to stand beside him. Gar's heart twinged in guilt. He shouldn't have asked her. It had been selfish and wrong, and unfair to her.

"No. It was stupid of me to ask. After all, it's only a hickey." He reasoned with a forced smile. She nodded and they both stood there silently before the bathroom mirror, absorbed in their own thoughts. Gar stared at the smudge on the mirror where he had wiped a circle with his hand. The fog had disappeared completely and left the surface clear. Clear so that he could see Raven as she walked behind him on cat feet and out the door, with a small but sad smile on her face.

For a moment his mind froze with that puzzling image; a mental photograph of something rare and unusual that raised a thousand questions to his lips. But Gar swallowed them, shook his head, and dismissed it for the time being, before following in her footsteps.

TT

Terra was still sleeping when he shuffled back into the room. Her blonde hair spilled over his green pillows in a river of gold. A delicate arm poked out from under the bedspread and dangled limply over the edge of the bed. Gar sat down beside her, and lovingly ran his hand through that beautiful hair. She was perfect in everyway it seemed. So beautiful, so fun, so easy to laugh and love and trust. It almost felt too perfect at times. The lump of sheets stirred, the arm retreated, and soon his eyes met the baby blues of his girlfriend. She grinned, half drunken from sleep, and let out a content sigh.

"Morning Beasty." She cooed. Gar's lips twitched into a smile. With a slim hand she reached up and touched his face gently, to which he responded with a deep purr.

"Adorable." She murmured. Her fingertips trailed down, following the curve of his face, and painting over his lips with a thumb. They dipped softly into the slope of his neck then screeched to a stop halfway down. Gar felt something in the air shatter. Looking down he saw Terra, wide eyed, pupils dilated, mouth held in a firm line.

"The mark on your neck…" She stated. He blinked, not fully understanding, but launching into an explaination anyway.

"Yah, it's pretty noticeable. I tried to get Raven to heal it but something weird happened with her powers and it didn't work so I figured I'd just let it go." He chuckled. "I guess we'll have to deal with the jokes for a bit until it heals on it own." But her angelic face didn't soften, and her soft blue eyes had gone cold as ice. Garfield felt her perfectly manicured nails dig into the soft flesh of his neck.

"Garfield. It's on the wrong side."

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**AN:**

I was tempted to add another sentence such as the one below, but decided that it was unnecessary and a bit distasteful:

'Off in her room, Raven grinned as she heard a scream shatter the quiet morning atmosphere of Titan's Tower.'

Just in case you wanted to know hehe...

Please Review!

-BN


	3. Heartless

**AN**: I felt bad because I had posted something in forever so I dug this little blurb out of my document folder and stuck it on here. It's more of a peace offering than anything else, but I suppose it has its moments. Enjoy and I'll definitely be posting more once exams are over. PROMISE

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A Dragon's Musings

I shifted in my prison. A burst of pain as my bruised essence brushed the paper.

Always pain. I thought about a time when there was not, chuckled, and then told myself to quit these fancies and focus.

Enthrald en visage almour cuum fiere...

She had violet tresses. I remembered the heat then the smell of burnt hair. I told her she was beautiful, and she used to smile at me. She was. My eyes accepted that. But what else was there? I pitied her in all her mortal innocence, allowing herself to fall so fully, and devote herself so willingly into something I could not give.

Love, they called it.

A laugh.

So false, so superficial, so weak. People called me heartless. They said I needed one to understand it but they are fools. I see it for what it really is. A demon like myself is not accepted in a world where things are based on matters of the heart. They know no true justice, for they are swayed by it always and forever, and they see me as evil.

I had hoped Raven would understand this. There is no dark, only misunderstood I told her. I had hoped because she was half demon see could see through my eyes if only briefly. But I suppose you can't be half-heartless. You either are or you aren't.

The affection she showed me, the attention she gave me was pleasing, yet I found that as usual I did not seek it except for the fact that it brought me closer to my goal.

Freedom.

I saw in her a gateway out of this hell. So I found her weakness, exploited it, and freed myself.

There was no right and wrong.

There was no question of morals.

Merely a straight black line from A to B. But she was human and my logic was lost in her principles.

She would have done better to love stone, for at least it is constant in its coldness and never takes on another guise. But she chose a demon like herself.

I brooded silently.

Corrupt, evil, twisted, manipulative, heartless.

That is what I am, yet I would feel no different had they had called me the opposite. In the end they who call me such names will retire to the earth, and I will live on in my immortal agony.

It is better to be heartless in this world anyway.

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Review if you wish. You're comments, editorials, moans, groans, gripes, and possible answers to the meaning of life are always appreciated.

Hugs!

BN


	4. Thank You

Disclaimer: See previous disclaimers... blah blah blah

A/N: Well I just finished reading a book called the "Minister's Daughter" and I really liked the writing style so I thought I would fool around with my own writing a bit and here's the result. Not much to look at I guess, but I tried to give it a bittersweet feeling. Let me know what you think! Oh and the grammer is probably a bit sucky, and some parts might seem more like a stream of conciousness than anything else. Just as a warning... so no flames or comments on bad grammer because I already know.

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Thank You

She stands quietly by the edge of the street, her withered hands folded over one another as she watches the building burn. Flames lick the grey sky, reaching as if to burn heaven itself. There are people rushing about, screaming, coughing, crying as the building starts to crumple like a house of matchsticks. She can see her small window on the fourth floor. The one she used to stare out of for hours, watching the clouds, the children on their way to and from school... She vaguely remembers that she forgot to water her windowsill plants this morning. Not that it matters any now.

The window spits and sputters flames like the mouth of some great demon before crumbling in on itself. The woman sighs.

There's a brief explosion of green on the right side of the building, and out pours smoke, debris, fire, a girl. Her eyes glow like her grandson's green lava lamp, the one she bought for him at a neighbor's garage sale, the one she hasn't seen or heard of since. She still had the thank you card sitting on her nightstand with a signature too neat and elegant for a boy his age. The edges are grey and soft from too much handling.

The woman shakes her head to clear it of the memories that have gathered in her mind like cobwebs. And now when she looks the girl is already rushing towards a worried woman. In her arms something wiggles, coughs, cries and reaches out little hands to cling to its mother. The child is black with soot, and its screams are cut off abruptly as her little lungs contract to push out the bad air. Its mother however is too busy smothering the child in kisses as tears run down her own black cheeks.

The old woman remembers seeing the mother dragged from the building screaming in a state fit to burst, because her burned and blistered fingers had been too swollen to turn the hot handle on her baby's door. She remembers how the mother crumpled to the dirty pavement before the fiery inferno like an old paper bag. And now she watches as the mother, a sopping mess of snot, tears, and relieved laughter, smothers her child's savior in an awkward but desperate hug. The flying girl in her purple outfit smiles and accepts the emotional mess into her arms. Many others before this young mother have been there before.

The old woman's attention is pulled away as another explosion wracks the building. Half of it crumples with a deafening roar of falling cement, wood, and memories. Firemen curse openly, bark orders, and she can see it on their smudged faces and in their red watery eyes that they can do nothing more here. The building, and any unlucky souls caught within it will be ashes in a few hours.

Nearby another mother, who fate has not smiled upon today, weeps softly. Her husband's words and gentle embraces can do nothing to stop the fire or bring back her baby but she hasn't the heart or the will right now to tell the grieving man this. But he knows, and already he is blaming himself for not getting to newly painted room, before the floor collapsed in front of the door. The old woman's face turns as grim as the smoke hovering above her like a beacon of death.

Thena figure emerges from the plume of smoke, slowly, its form hunched over andat first the old womanthinks it's from pain. But no, as the smoke and dust and embers are wiped from the air by an invisible hand, she sees it is another girl, her body bent at the waist and her arms pressing a bundle to her chest protectively. She looks like a fallen angel with her tattered cloak dragging in the soot and her dirty violet hair hanging over her ashen face like some morbid veil. She walks with heavy footsteps as if dragging invisible broken wings, and with the fire raging behind her she looks like one of hell's own angels come to claim the lost souls from this place.

The grungy mess of cloth in her arms does not squirm like her friend's did, nor does it cry out or cough and the old woman fears for a moment that the child is dead. There is a howl from the mother and she rushes towards the girl and grabs the baby from her burned arms as if snatching it from the fire itself. Immediately a small mewling cry is issued from the bundle and the old woman's heart settles within her. But she cannot mistake the fear and the hatred she sees in the mother's eyes as she looks at her child's savior.

This God loving woman, who goes to church every Sunday in her best, and who prays before bed with her wooden rosary beads, cannot find it in herself to thank the girl standing burned and blackened before her. Instead she turns away, resting her crying baby on her shoulder, and walks towards the firemen who are smiling at her with teeth that gleam against their grey, dusty skin. The old woman sees the child's tear stained cheeks, and sees its fat fist reach out towards the girl, but now the mother is turning it around so the firemen can press an oxygen mask to its tiny face.

The old woman watches the girl standing alone by the burning mess, and sees how her clenched hands tremble as she stares at her friend. She sees how the other mother sobs unabashedly while grasping the green-eyed girl's arm and repeating the same words over and over with her chapped and bleeding lips.

_Thank you_

_Thank you…_

The dark girl is telling herself that she doesn't care. She is telling herself that the mother of the child she saved is thankful and that when she talks of the fire with others, her face will light up when she tells them of this brave young girl who emerged from the blazing rubble with the little baby clasped safely in her arms. The old woman can see it in her eyes, as she feeds herself these much needed lies.

She can see how the girl stiffens, her mind forcing up instinctive barriers to keep out the hurt. She's different, strange, and creepy. She's the thing that brings a distinctive chill to the air when she enters a room. She's the thing you find watching you from the puddle of shadows sitting in the corner. She's the thing that makes mothers clutch their children closer. This girl is unstable, unpredictable, un-trustable, and unwanted.

The old woman shudders with the forlorn feeling that engulfs her. Perhaps it's her own motherly nature coming out, or maybe she just pities the girl but for some reason or another, her feet shuffle closer to the abomination standing by the fire. The dark girl hears the sound of slippered feet on dirty pavement, each

Ssshhff

Ssshhff

Ssshhff

Coming closer and closer. Her body whirls to face her possible attacker and the old woman feels her breath leave her in a soft gasp. For this girl, whose eyes are like stormy skies, whose face is as cold and smooth as a marble statue, and whose dark hair flies about her in demonic halo, is looming above her in a cocoon of black fire. She is awesome, if not terrifying to behold. But the effect lasts only a few seconds for the girl, realizing that the old woman is not a threat, quickly composes herself.

Her eyes still gleam fiercely, like two amethyst portals into a world of nightmares, and her stance can only be interpreted as intimidating. A pair of grey lips are etched onto her face in a permanent scowl and the old woman wonders if they have ever known a smile. But still, the woman is wise, if not slightly senile and blinded by false optimism. She can still feel the sorrow like a tangible presence that has become this girl's shadow.

She can see how her shoulders must stay strong and rigid to deflect the blows. And she can see that her face must remain that of a statue's if she ever wishes to survive another day in this world. But most of all, the old woman can see what this girl really is.

She is a child.

A pair of frail arms finds their way around the girl and there are lips on her cheek that tremble as they plant a rusty kiss. There is no response from this dark hero. But the old woman knows it is not because she is not kind or good or human, but rather because she does not know what to do.

_Thank You_

The old woman smiles, smoothes back some violet hair that is hopelessly singed and tangled then shuffles off around the corner. Waiting and watching, just for a moment more.

There is a green boy who runs towards the still figure with anxious feet and heart.

_Raven_

He's there now, jumping around her, fretting over her, reaching out tentative fingers to touch her but drawing back at the last moment. He was worried. He was scared. He gets angry for a second then softens again and this time gets up the courage to gently touch her arm. The girl meanwhile has been staring beyond him with her mind elsewhere, and now at his touch she jumps, snaps, and strides off with him following in her wake, still preaching his concerns.

The old woman smiles. Although the girl brushes him off, she can see it in her face how it softens to become something human, that this boy is what keeps her going. She doesn't realize it right now, but one day when's he's not there she will. It is his attention, his concern for her, and his words that speak soft nothings when she needs it the most, that makes all the other hurts and scars seem bearable. With her heart resting content at this knowledge the old woman goes.

The building is gone and in its place lays a patch of smoldering dirt, rubble, and garbage. The people watch with somber, hopeless expressions as the firemen kick and dig their way through everything, making sure that all is lost. The families know they should be content with their lives, but now with their loved ones safe in their arms, guilty thoughts fill their heads.

_It took me forever to build that crib…_

_I should have grabbed my laptop…_

_Why didn't I get my jewelry box…?_

They sit like this with hungry looks, and think about whether or not Aunty Clem or Cousin Robert still has that room for rent.

Suddenly there's a shout from one the firemen and their eyes widen in hope. They found something! Soon they're setting down their children, breaking away from their lovers and running over to see if it's theirs; A flock of vultures coming to pick and grab at whatever has managed to survive.

But the fireman is shaking his head as he looks down into the mess of dust and burned bits.

_Pour soul…_

He mutters, and picks up a blackened thank-you card.

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AN: Well now wasn't that just dandy... I thought it would be interesting to explore the fact that Raven probably doesn't get as much thanks as she deserves because of who she is. Eh, I tried anyway. I'm also writing a sort of sequel thingy to the Hickeyone-shot I wrote because a lot of people asked for one.

Reviews are appreciated as always!

-BN


	5. Immortal

Disclaimer- The Teen Titans I own not.

**A/N**- Just read. It will be explained at the end.

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**Immortal**

Her finger flew over the keyboard. She didn't stop for a quick sip of her tea, nor to push back the strand of violet hair that had escaped her messy bun. She was focused. "…a consensus has existed in the scientific community that a decline in cognitive function is an irreversible…"

CRASH  
Raven jumped and added an extra 'r' to irreversible as she heard the distinct noise of china hitting a tile floor. A small whimper and she was out of her seat in an instant and standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Rae I'm... ss-sorry..." The voice was weak and afraid. She glanced at the floor, saw the bits of blue and white scattered throughout the kitchen, saw the white dust nestled in the grouting of the tile where the item had hit the floor, and pushed down a scream.

"Garfield, this is the fourth bowl this week." She said evenly, turning her eyes up to look at him. He trembled violently.

"Rae... I-I'm sss-sorry..."

"I told you to just leave it on the table and I'd put it away." The words came out louder than she realized.

"Rae..." He whimpered. Both green hands shook with the tremors passing through his body.

"You know what? Forget it, I'm going out today and buying plastic bowls, PLASTIC BOWLS GAR!" It was a yell and now his chin was trembling, his lips flapping about as he pushed out the word "sss-sorry" with a small wheeze.

Fat tears streamed down his face, tracing along the lines and ridges etched into his cheeks, before falling to the floor and leaving dark spots on the dust. She turned away, ashamed and afraid she'd say more. With a flick of her hand, she levitated the remains of her new china bowl into the trash. The tears on the floor stayed behind.

"Rae..." He sobbed. She turned around and led his shaking, hunched figure over to the sofa, keeping a solemn face as she did so. His body bent at the middle, trembled for a moment to an alarming degree and in a single motion collasped into the nest of pillows and blankets that held his imprint like a mold.

Raven watched him for a minute, as he placed frail green hands over his eyes and wept softly, occasionally mumbling something that she knew was 'sorry'. Her expression was furious, hot tears filling up the corners of her eyes, until she had to tear her gaze away.

"Damnit Gar," She managed to choke, "When did you get so old?" The words escaped in a burst of amazed truth which she had held within her for every moment that had passed before this one. He shuddered from a large intake of breath, and reached out a wet, veiny hand to clutch her T-shirt. This small desperate action tugged at her heart.

"I'm ss-sorry Rae... P-please don't leave m-me..." He whimpered, and more tears escaped from the wrinkled corners of his eyes. Raven didn't look at him, didn't show him the steady stream of her own tears, or how the anger had fled to reveal her dispair. Instead she just grasped his hand tightly in her smooth one, felt the tendon and bone just below her finger tips and sent her love through that touch.

As a young woman she felt she didn't deserve such a patient, caring man, and now the roles were switched in what felt like only a breath of her lifetime.

"I won't, but you have to promise me the same." She whispered.

* * *

**EXPLAINATION:** Now before you start ranting about what the hell was going on in that little blurb, please let me explain. It's pretty much a one-shot about what would happen if Raven aged slower than a normal human because of her demon blood, and how messed up and sad it would be as she watched Gar grow old while she stayed relatively young. It had me all blubbery when I wrote it... 

Reviews appreciated as always

-BN


	6. Unforgiving

Disclaimer: See general disclaimer in profile.

**A/N:** I'd figure it would probably be good to post another one before I go on vacation. This one takes place immediately after Aftershock: Part 2

Oh and a great big ginormous **THANK YOU** to everyone who has reviewed. You guys are great!

**EDIT!-** Thank you to **-EHWIES** and **vinnie the geek** for pointing out some horrible errors in my writing. I have gone through it and hopefully fixed everything involving my tenses and quotations. Gack, me hate tenses…

* * *

**Unforgivable**

The wind wraps me in its cold fingers, blowing my hair and cloak about wildly and making my eyes water. The horizon is grey with storm clouds, bunched together in towering masses that threaten to swallow the remaining blue sky. But I'm numb to most of it. Strangely detached. My body is heavy and my mind is blank.

It's as if someone has pushed the reset button on my brain because it is too much. Because all these emotions, all these 'what-if's and 'could-have-been's are way too foreign for me to comprehend. In other words, I'm protecting myself. Sealing away and erasing all the possibilities that might upset me. That is the way I work. It's my body's natural process of eliminating anything that threatens to send me over the edge.

I know I could have said 'yes'. I could have just let my mind explore those dangerous thoughts despite my better judgment. But I didn't. Now all I have are memories. Pictures and sequences of what I have just witnessed without the emotion that goes with them. I stare off into the ocean and the clouds where I can see her eyes. The eyes that had been as dark and cold as the water below me, and just as unforgiving.

"She would have done it." I state plainly. It is a fact and nothing more. The boy next to me doesn't respond. He seems frozen as well. Just the two of us staring blankly out into the curve of the Earth below the dangerous sky.

"I know." He replies. No feeling in those words. Another fact. My announcement needs no explanation or argument for him to understand. A shiver cuts across my flesh that has nothing to do with the wind. A gull cries from somewhere above us.

"Why didn't you morph?" I ask. There's the sound of a shoe scraping against stone as he shifts position. I sense a shift in his attitude as well. While I stand there waiting for his reply, I know that if my mind wasn't in shock I would probably be fearing the answer to that question, but at this moment I can't seem to feel anything if I tried.

"I needed to know." The wind almost carries the words away before I can catch them. Something in me plummets and before I know it, I'm stepping forward to lean over the edge of the cliff. Bent and spasming, I watch the contents of my stomach plunge towards the rocks and the sea. But even then I feel nothing. It was mainly reflex. Like when you smell something rotten and gag on impulse.

The vomit spatters on the jagged edges of the coast and I stumble back from the dizzying view and wipe my mouth, willing myself not to retch again from the taste. My breath comes in small pants, and a cold sweat erupts on my skin making my limbs tremble from the cold. It's like my body is reacting to what my mind cannot. I lick my lips and taste bitterness.

"Why would you do that to us?" I ask in a hoarse tone. The wind answers with a lonesome howl and then suddenly I realize my lips have stumbled and brought out another question entirely. There's something strange in the atmosphere, stranger than the electricity from the approaching storm, and I'm threatening to be sick all over again from the realization of my mistake.

I clench my fingers into fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of my palms and turning my hands into little balls of pain. He is silent and pale beside me, with a face that gives me nothing and an aura that floats dead and heavy around him. I turn and stare hard at him, hating what I see. Blank eyes that sit like dull marbles in their sockets, a mouth relaxed into a heavy frown, and hands that fall limp at his sides, grasping and reaching for nothing.

"Why would you do that to me?" And this time when the words flow, none of them are a mistake. I see the shudder that passes through him as some part of him comes back to life, back to the present.

"I'm not strong." He whispers and something wet trails down his face.

Suddenly I'm submerging back into the memories, fresh, sharp memories that aren't dulled yet by the sleepless nights and active mind that strips the details. These are crisp and vivid, all senses still intact. I'm seeing her again for the first time, feeling the painful clench of my stomach and the breathlessness that accompanies that image. Her hands held high, her muscles twitching with the pressure of restraint, and her eyes cold and dead with what she's about to do.

She's done this before but it's much different now. Before it was always an accident, always a thousand nameless faces, merely numbers on paper. But to do it up front, to kill someone who you have laughed and cried with and who has shared with you the most intimate details of their life, that is another thing entirely. Some part of you must die before you can commit something as unforgiving as murder.

I'm convinced now it was already long dead in her when we first met. With a jerk I'm brought back to the present. There's a cold sensation on my face and when my fingertips brush against it they come away wet.

Tears.

I stare at my hand dumbly, not understanding how I can cry when I only feel numb. I realize my mistake as dark circles dot the ground around me with the first rain we've had in a while. It's just a light drizzle and neither of us make a move to leave, but I know somehow that it could pour and we would still be standing here like statues. I realize right then, that I don't want to go home. I don't want to creep into my familiar dark corner to be left alone. Even in this deadened state a part of me longs for company.

The ocean whips about more angrily with the approach of the storm and I'm colder than ever with the wind blowing against my damp skin. Goosebumps rise, along with some strange demented satisfaction that forms from my thoughts. It is the first thing I can feel in what seems like a very long. However sick it is, there is a small part of me glad to have witnessed such a breakdown.

To know deep down inside that I was right all along, to know that I'm better than her in some way makes me content. To know that she could have killed him brings me a shameful satisfaction. The satisfaction that I'm stronger than her, that in the end I, with demon-blood flowing thick in my veins, was the more human between both of us. It's relief more than anything, but for what it's worth I don't think I would ever want to see it proven again.

"I needed to know if what I had with her meant anything." He says suddenly, catching me off-guard. His voice is still calm, and when I glance over his face betrays nothing of his thoughts even as these painful words are born.

"How could she do something like that? What made her this way?" He rambles tonelessly, staring off into the frothing sea. I shrug my cloak closer around me as he asks the questions my sick satisfaction doesn't want to hear.

I'd rather look at the reality of the matter, not what caused it. It's so much easier just to say she was born that way with the evil already deeply instilled within her. It's so much easier just to believe she had it in her from the beginning, that it was a part of who she was. But I can't tell him these things for two reasons.

One is because I'm not that cold-hearted and sick to say such things, especially so soon. And the other is because they are lies. A part of me knows that during some time in her short life, she couldn't have done what she almost did today. There was something that brought her to that point and made her mind strong enough or broken enough to kill another human being in cold blood.

"Something happened to her. I sensed it when we first found her. Maybe all the people she's accidentally killed finally got to her, or maybe someone really important to her died. Whatever it was, it destroyed the part of her that keeps us from taking the life of another. Maybe she lost somebody she loved…" I trail off, allowing that last sentence to be taken by the wind.

There's a part of me that is afraid to let him hear that thought and pretty soon I'm content enough to leave it to fate to decide whether he caught it or not. He seems to try and digest what I've said, chewing his lip and rolling his eyes over the ominous horizon. While he thinks, I'm left here to catch up with my own words and reasoning. The city is dead behind us, a modern day ghost town. I wonder for a moment how many died during the brief invasion and how it is those loses don't affect me the same way a near-loss of my friend has. A dark truth dawns on me as I delve deeper into the meaning of what I've told him, but just then he interrupts with another question.

"Raven, if she did it, if you guys hadn't gotten there in time…would you have-"

"In a heartbeat." I respond, fully accepting the fact that by saying so it makes me no better than Terra herself.

But as he flashes me a bittersweet smile and leads me away from the cliff and the approaching storm, I feel like I could have lived with her blood on my hands had she taken him from me. I feel like for all the pleasure I've managed to squeeze out of revealing her darker nature, I know in my very core that had she brought that rock down on him, whatever had shattered in her long ago would have shattered in me and I would have followed in her footsteps without regret.

* * *

**A/N:** This one-shot was done for a number reasons and has managed to morph from one purpose to another. Originally I wrote it because it bugged the crap out of me that Beast Boy didn't just morph when Terra had him trapped and was about to go in for the kill. Then as I kept writing it became more of how I wanted to show the fanfic world that Terra probably would have killed him had the Titans not interfered. This was relatively easy to spit out compared to the other one-shots I'm working on right now. And sorry if there's any grammer mistakes. I was pretty rushed to get this finished with packing and all...

Hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is greatly appreciated and if you have any questions feel free to ask.

-BN


	7. Parody

**Disclaimer:** See previous disclaimer...

**A/N:** Okay I'm trying something new here. It's been done a hundred thousand times over but I just had to see if I could do it and produce anything at least faintly interesting. I'm going to pick out a word in the dictionary at random (eyes closed, the whole shebang) and write what comes to mind. It's faintly exciting, and helps exercise my creativity (or at least I'd like to think that it does…) So here's the first word.

Oh and this one's dedicated to **vinnie the geek** who has faithfully reviewed all of my chapters (and his brain of course deserves some recognition). Thank you!

* * *

**Parody**

"Romote and Jutile"

"Romeo and Juliet" She snapped and then a softer "idiot" followed.

"Whatever." Beast Boy yawned, rolling from his back onto his stomach so that the ceiling and the floor were once again back in their respected positions. He glared at the cover of the book, wishing he had the power to absorb the content through extreme concentrate with his eyes. Seconds passed, hours, then days. He groaned.

"Oh come on. You've got to tell me what it's about now." He whined, making Raven grimace.

"Nothing you'd be interested in." She replied matter-of-factly and quietly left the room.

He disappeared for while after that, occasionally creeping out to grab food and drink before retreating in the same direction he came. And always he muttered madly to himself, thrusting his hands into the air as if waving away invisible flies and then more often than not, groaning and starting a string of curses. There were a few raised eyebrows, and few comments that he had finally lost it, or all that tofu had affected his brain, but they were only a little funny the first time and never funny at all after that. Raven kept her thoughts and opinions to herself.

A few days later as she settled back down into the same nook of the sofa and took up her book he popped up again. Mischief was in his eyes, brewing and fermenting deep within their green hues.

"Heya Rae." He piped and she could only pray that whatever he had planned didn't involve too much of a mess. She grumbled something of a hello that came out more as a 'don't call me that…' before pulling her book up to block his face. There was a throat clearing noise and quite a lot of shuffling from behind her wall of words so that her mind itched with the possibilities of what he was doing. She lowered it a bit, peeking out, hoping, wondering, fearing and then giving a good snort at what she saw.

"Beast Boy what the hell are you doing?" She asked, half amused and half exasperated. There was more unnecessary throat clearing and then he kneeled before her.

"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid are more fair than she. Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! Oh that I might be a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!"

Her mouth open, Raven stared and some part of her brain must have registered what was going on because her lips moved of their own accord.

"Oh Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and I'll no longer be a Capulet." She answered in a soft tone that betrayed her amazement. He fidgeted a bit, unsure of what to do.

"Um, well… that's all I know." He mumbled, blushing a bit, and becoming panicky because she had yet to say anything about his performance. He made to stand, jerked awkwardly as he went back onto one knee, and then seemingly as an afterthought grabbed her limp hand and planted a kiss on it.

There was a lot of muttering and crashing as he made for the exit, scared stupid over the fact that she hadn't yelled or slapped him or both. And then, as the quiet settle back over the common room, Raven glanced down at her hand with distant eyes and thought about how funny he had looked in that feathered hat.

* * *

**A/N:** Cute? A little. Strange? Maybe a lot. Interesting? Well that's for you to decide now isn't it? 

Sorry about the shortness. I hope the content made up for it. I was overdue for some mindless fluff anyways after all of those more serious chapters.

Oh and just in case you didn't know, I hate reviews. I really really hate them. So whatever you do don't click that little blue button on the bottom of your screen. NE LE TOUCHE PAS! (oh god now I'm speaking French…)

Hehe, don't you love reverse psychology?

-BN


	8. Learning

Disclaimer: See disclaimer in chapter 2.

**A/N-** See here, this is a prime example of what happens when the author sits on the sofa and does nothing for an entire day. Not very pretty…

* * *

**Learning**

There are many things that I do not yet understand.

I am still young, still learning. Those empty spaces are there, waiting to be filled with the truths of this world.

"Starfire please pass me the salt."

I have seen many things that do not make sense to me even after all these years.

"Of course Raven. I would be happy to."

They are like a deck of cards in my mind. While I can look at them, I cannot understand them in this scattered state. They have no meaning and no order in their current arrangement

"Thank you Star." She does not smile. A stray hair catches somewhere on her mouth and she pushes it back subconsciously.

'If only she would let me fix her hair...' I think wistfully.

"You're most welcome."

I can feel myself becoming lost in thought, slipping into my daydreaming fancies. 'If only she would wear those clothes I bought for her…'

My eyes follow her cloak, from her hunched shoulders to where it lays puddle around her chair on the tile floor. 'If she would just sit a little straighter…' I muse. As she chews, she grunts in response to a question Beast Boy has asked.

'If only she would try a little harder…'

"Starfire?" My head turns slowly away from Raven, but even then it takes a while before my eyes tear themselves from her image to follow. It's Robin, his fork loaded and poised halfway to his mouth which tells me I must look upset.

"Are you okay?"

"I am fine Robin. You need not worry. I was simply lost in my thoughts." He's not convinced but I see his fork finish the journey anyways which means he will not say more.

'If only he wouldn't worry about me so much.' I wish. But what good have my wishes done? What good are they in our lives?

'If only Beast Boy would say what he means.'

'If only Robin would look beyond his work.'

'If only Raven would try…'

'If only…'

'If only…'

'If only.'

"Aw Rae, quit making fun of me."

Just wishes that are too late; pennies that sit rusty on the bottom of fountains and stars that hang like useless trinkets in the skies.

I look at Raven again and the same things come to mind. But now it's more than her appearance, it's her life.

"You set yourself up for it. It's hard not to."

A hundred million 'if only's swirling around inside of her, making her everything she is; a masterpiece of all the opportunities that have slipped through her fingers.

"Why can't you be nice for once?"

She is an 'if only'.

"…just shut up Beast Boy, and let me eat."

She is the sum of all them weaved together by fate while the rest of us are left to wait patiently as we watch what is being created. Then, we are compelled by our hearts to say those two wistful words when we see the finished product.

"Sorry Rae. I really didn't mean it…"

It is painful to look at. I know this as I watch Raven. But then I think...we are all 'if only's. Each of us are frayed with threads of our lives that could have lead elsewhere but were cut, leaving the stray strands behind for us to imagine what we could have had and what we could have been. Raven swallows hard beside me.

'If only she realized.'

I gaze sadly at my friends. I love them all the same, even with their mistakes and flaws and chances lost. They mean the world to me, and perhaps that is why I am so overcome with despair when I think of the day they will wake up and see what they are made up of, or rather, what they are not made up of.

'If only we hadn't trusted Terra.'

But a person cannot, must not, dwell on them. A future formed by 'if only's is nothing but future of wishes for the past. We have to focus on the now, on our dreams and our hopes before they can become just more 'if only's.

"May I please be excused?" I ask, praying my voice does not waver. Robin frowns, but there are three mumbled yes's and I'm up and out the door before he can say anything. I do not fly as I make my way down the lonely corridor. My body is much too heavy with learning. A part of me aches with the knowledge and I desperately crave release from its weight.

I want to tell Raven. She is the one in the greatest danger, the one who has already missed too much and cannot afford to lose more. He was, and is still there waiting for her across the table. Waiting for her to smile at him, to laugh with him, to even learn to love him. But I cannot reveal my thoughts, for this is something for her to learn on her own.

I just pray she doesn't let him become another 'if only' in her life.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, I know… It's not much of a bbxrae one-shot. It's more about me trying to dig deeper into one of life's principles when it wasn't really that deep to begin with. And so now we're left with bits and pieces of some weird philosophy I managed to come up with. Amazing isn't it? Oh and honestly, I kind of doubt Star would have these kinds of thoughts, but she was convenient so I used her POV.

I might take this off and replace it with something better if people don't like it, so please let me know!

-BN

p.s. - As much as it kills me to say this, please be picky about my grammar. I'm trying to improve my writing.


	9. Poison

**Disclaimer**: See previous chapters, blah blah blah…

**A/N**: Omikoshbigosh! Cool new website layout (sorta…). Hey, it added a little excitement to my life (sad I know).

Well, just in case the last chapter wasn't depressing enough, here's something a little more intense. Enjoy.

This chapter is dedicated to **SweetNevermore**, a great friend who has never failed to review any of my stories. Thank you for all the support! It really means a lot to me.

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**Poison**

It was a slow-working poison.

The white sheets turned dark with sweat around her twisted form. She writhed and spasmed while the pale flesh of her thighs bulged around the brown leather straps. There was a sharp crack and a single chocolate eye looked down on a finger that hung at an unnatural angle.

He shivered. The others twisted madly around one another, knuckles white as bone and palms decorated with bloody crescents and gorges. It was silent except for the sharp hiccups and the rapid irregular beat of the machine by the bed.

His hand trembled by her arm.

He looked at the veins threaded through that delicate arm. He watched the muscle beneath them clench and twitch.

There was a faint mewling cry and suddenly he realized his hand was shaking too hard to be of any use. Tears flowed from the corners of her unfocused eyes and were lost somewhere in the dark hairline. A few puddled comfortably in the curves of her ears and the crook of her neck. Her mouth hung open in a desperate search for air, and at times the lips moved as if to speak. But there were no words. Just small hiccups and gasps that tore at his heart.

"Damnit Victor. Do it already."

Slow paralysis, nausea, painful muscle spasms, swelling of the brain, loss of bowel and bladder control…

The tip of the needle caught the light, and he stared down at the object in his hand, his eyes lost in the nothingness that was the sharp point of that needle. All the while, the machine next to him cried out in frenzied beeps. He started to wonder if that was his own heart.

Maybe he was the one dying…

Her chest trembled violently with quick pants that stretched the leather bands tight over her soft shape. He looked at the face again, and was struck with the fascination of her bloodless lips and knotted forehead. Her wide eyes were focused on something he couldn't see...

God maybe. Something holier than the wretched figure sitting uselessly by her side.

It was like she knew he couldn't do it. Something in her tormented face told him she knew that the end of her suffering wouldn't come from him. He knew it and hated it as the needle scraped uselessly against the crook of her elbow.

Numbly he stared at her veins and imagined what would happen. The needle would slide easily into her clammy skin, practically painlessly, and it would enter the vein. Then he would press down the syringe in one smooth motion, ejecting the liquid into her blood where it would be swept away into her body. It would float along with the push and pull of her pulse and within seconds it would be sucked into her frantic heart. Then…

CRACK

The deadly tube slipped from his hand and hit the floor. A long cold noise pierced the air. He wiped away the wet spots on his cheek knowing full well they weren't tears and looked up at his friend.

He remembered last night with flawless clarity. Watching the two of them talking on one of the video monitors he had for security reasons. She had been lying on the white bed, pale and serious while he looked on with a face of worry and motherly protection. And then she slipped him something with pleading eyes.

"If we don't find the antidote…"

"Don't talk like that."

"Please Garfield."

"I won't do it."

"Gar..."

"I won't do it. Don't ask me to do it."

He had left screaming those words.

The finger was still clenched tightly on the metal loop. The face behind it was impassive as ever. Nobody shouted or cried or even gasped. It was only that continuous monotone. The leather straps no longer creaked and strained against bruising flesh, and those eyes had found whatever they had been searching for.

Under his chair lay the syringe. Unused and worthless. He stared at the man standing over the limp figure and was silently thankful.

The man moved, as if suddenly remembering something. He raised his arm, pressed the cold barrel against his smooth green temple, and tightened his finger slowly on the trigger all in one smooth movement.

No hesitation in his face, or in that finger. It curled against the metal beautifully.

Click.

He didn't blink or flinch. He just stood there; his emerald eyes glazed over with a different type of death.

Click.

It became a toy in his hand.

Click.

A pointless sound blending with the one-note melody of the monitor.

Click.

The gun clattered on the floor and Gar gave a hollow laugh.

"Damnit Rae," he cursed tonelessly, "You knew us too well."

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**A/N**- I am not suicidal. I am not depressed. Suicide is bad. I am not supporting it in any way. And now that I've covered that, I'd just like to say I have no idea where this came from. The idea just popped into my head and I really felt like writing about it, but I think that it could have been done better. I'm just such a lazy git and didn't feel like doing much revising…

I'm sure you understand what Beast Boy means by that last statement. There is a story behind the whole thing that I thought up, but decided that going through the explanation of what was going on would ruin it. And I figured you guys have an imagination, so feel free to use it. As always, if you have questions feel free to ask.

And you opinion on anything (grammar included…wince…) is appreciated.

Tata!

-BN


	10. Half

**A/N**: Gack! Beware the consequences of reading extremely detailed books such as "All the King's Men". I mean seriously, it was detail overkill, but, well, it was awesome and completely inspiring. So, I dug up this old piece that I started on the plane to Greece and finished it. Heh, it was a brilliant book… at least once I got past page 200 or so.

And I know it's probably a pretty cliché topic, especially with Raven, but it's pretty much her ponderings on whether or not she has a soul, being the daughter of demon and all that jazz. Of course BB's just a sweetheart but, ahem, I can't give it away before it begins. Oh and just as a warning... I didn't really proof read. THE HORROR!

**Dedication:** To all my reviewers of course (you're all so wonderful!) and a little shoutout to **KittyMojo** who asked for something happier.

Oh and a big shoutout to my awesome friend **CoolPetzGirl**, who although she may not be a Titan fan, I still thank her for reading my nerdy fanfiction.

Cheers!

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**Half**

There's a certain time of day, when the sun's last rays shimmer in a brilliant farewell, and the lights of the city come on like the sparkle of a thousand jewels or maybe just one giant diamond reflecting off the first few stars appearing in the sky, that I feel the most bittersweet feeling wash over me. It's a feeling of quiet despair made softer by the beauty of my surroundings and the very knowledge that I exist in such a world when I know perfectly well that I shouldn't.

There's something in that coming night air when it fills my lungs that can get me high like nothing else I know, and it takes my mind to places I normally can't reach. Maybe it's the sensation of the cold concrete pressing against my bare thighs, or the special scent of city and sea that you can't put in a bottle, or maybe it's just the pure exhilaration of being so close to the sky that you feel if only your toes could reach a little higher you could brush the heavens with your fingertips.

But all these put together seem to impression every sense I own with a little bit of bliss and make me feel more alive and conscious of my existence than I can bear.

I can actually feel it as my heart spurts and pumps within my chest, and I can practically hear the rush of blood cascading through each and every vein I possess. All of it just screams "You're alive! You're invincible!" and for the moment I inhale until my lungs ache from the pressure and I believe it.

But the second I do, the second I taste this indestructible feeling it's gone. Swept away by the powerful winds of truth and reality who are always screaming in my ear. And then I'm just Raven. The devil child trying to live life like a saint when I know full well that it doesn't make up for anything. The demon who dreams of heaven just beyond her fingertips.

And yet, I think to myself, what kind of cruel God throws me into this world; a place where you can always catch little glimpses of heaven on earth, when we both know perfectly well that's all I will ever see.

Just glimpses.

And I curse our creator for ever allowing me to glance paradise in the first place when it will always be forbidden. Ignorance is bliss they say. But then again, you can never appreciate that ignorance until it is lost.

So that is how I spend most of my evenings. Up there on the roof of this great government funded structure we call our home, squinting into the dying bleeding sun as it falls below the horizon and allowing my legs to dangle limply over the side of the flat rooftop. I go up there for many reasons. To think, to meditate, or maybe just to sit there and do nothing but stare into the color-smeared sky with that bittersweet feeling coursing through me.

And as my shadow grows longer, and the curtain of night begins to close around the world, I almost pray with the aloneness it brings. The distance becomes glaring obvious, painfully obvious so that my heart, or whatever it is that a demon possesses in its place, throbs and clenches beneath my breast like an entity of it's own.

There has been the rare exception, however, when company has found my lonely figure, and company has sat down beside me with a pleasant look on its face and spoke meaningless words so that the air between us was not too empty. And I welcomed company as one welcomes a cool summer breeze, with silent subconscious gratitude while it exists, and a wish for it when there is none.

And sometimes during those exceptional times when my lengthening shadow had a friend, there was another exception within that one, when company would no longer be company but something else entirely. And the words were no longer meaningless bursts of air and syllables but genuine thought and feeling.

It made the world smaller and cozier in my mind's eye. That frightening distance would disappear, and something intangible would fill the gap between us and a distinct wholeness would consume me. The bittersweet shiver from before would still linger somewhere at the base of my spine, but so long as that unidentified comfort and warmth, with it's dangling legs and hands resting palms down on the concrete an intimate inch from my own, existed, I was safe from it.

So strong was that link between us once, that I spilled an unforgivable thought. An irretrievable thought. I spoke a thought, or rather a question, which should have been left for the sunsets without company, or for the nights when the air is too thick and the body is too restless for sleep. For that was where the thought had been made long ago, and like a familiar groove that attracts the touch of your finger, I ran my mind over it out of habit.

"Do I have a soul?"

And I remember the airy silence and how that shiver gave an instinctive twitch. He had turned to look at me for a moment, eyes hard and bright as emeralds, and then answered with such conviction that I almost blushed.

"Of course you do!" He responded, with an anger I knew was not directed at me, but rather at whoever or whatever had put that notion in my head. And then, there it was again. For a split second I believed. A breath later I was Raven again.

"You don't know that." I said, and my words were empty and once again made the space between us hollow.

"I know that you're a good person." He replied, and when I glanced at him I saw that bittersweet feeling expressed on his features as if my question, my condition, suddenly was his own.

"But that means nothing if you're soulless. A demon is still a demon no matter how it acts." And it occurred to me as I spoke that there was a part of me desperate to prove him wrong. Perhaps it was because I was so sure in my own mind that I didn't have a soul, and I had already started to prepare myself for the fact that when I died I would either be stuck in hell, limbo, or cease to exist altogether.

So as I sat there in the dying light of the sun and stubbornly insisted that I my soulless body and mind were damned since birth, he became rather passive and whatever conviction he had possessed in the first place gradually leaked away. In the end it was just my breathless figure sitting beside his hunched one, while the shivers erupted up and down my spine, echoing into the emptiness that was me.

That thought, that question, had been lost into the atmosphere along with everything attached to it and now whatever space inside of me it had occupied suddenly felt like a gaping wound. And the thing, with the dangling legs and fingers no longer an intimate inch from my own, was neither comfort nor company but rather an exact copy of myself, a mirror reflection of feelings and thoughts. We were bitter and miserable and alone... together.

"You can have half of mine." He told me softly.

"Half of your what?"

"Of my soul." A small laugh escaped me, and I turned to look at that serious face with the orange sun splashed across it.

"That's impossible." I told him quietly, and my words were gentle and mother-like as if he were a child and I was the person assigned of telling him a terrible truth. And all in all, as I spoke it felt to me like a terrible truth, and by the time the sentence died I was no longer sure if the gentle words were meant for him or for both of us.

Splitting a soul is not like splitting land or money or milkshakes.

It can't be measured, counted, or cut.

A soul simply is what it is.

But then he did something unexpected, and without nervous hesitation or fumbling, took my hand and folded it neatly into his own.

"Close your eyes." He said and I looked to see that his were already shut with the veins of his eyelids standing out like spider web designs in the light of the sun. I blinked once, then closed, and was overwhelmed by the glow of red coming from the inside of my lids.

'This is pointless.' I thought, 'just stupid really. You can't cut your soul in half. He's being ridiculous. I should just open my eyes and tell him to leave.' And although my thoughts rambled on, toppling one over another like a collapsing block tower, I didn't open my eyes or pull my hand away or break the windy silence that ate at my ears. I simply sat there, thighs resting on the rough concrete, legs dangling down into oblivion, and my hand and arm tingling from the warmth of his touch.

Then, sometime during that whole thing, I can not remember exactly when, those tumbling thoughts broke and ceased to be and I was left with just the Disney-like magic of the moment that some part of me had refused to destroy for whatever it was worth.

I don't know how long we sat like that, with our hands link and our eyes closed and both our exaggerated shadows bleeding together. It didn't really matter. But eventually the red underneath my eyelids faded to nothing and I knew that God had once again cupped his palms around the earth and night had come.

Ever since then I have always gone up to roof to watch the sunset and more importantly to wait for him. And when he comes now, he is not simply company or comfort, but the completion of something inside of me. I'm not sure if that something is a soul, but whatever it is, I'm no longer willing to believe that my existence is doomed to simply disappear like a wisp of smoke into the night.

For as he holds my hand and that completeness suddenly clicks between us like a finished jigsaw puzzle, I realize I have no evidence to prove that we're not simply two pieces of a whole. A demon, I decided, may be born without a soul, but there's nothing that says I can't be given one.

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**A/N**- Okay well I hope it was…well bittersweet, for lack of better description, heh. I tried to make this one happier and a little more romantic for the people out there looking for that type of thing. Personally I prefer angsty-ish over mindless fluff just because it usually hits you right in the gut and makes you think more. Call me an emotional freak, but I love a piece that brings you to tears. So this is a nice little relief story after that last one… It might be a little to detailed, however.

Oh well.

Let me know what you think and maybe what you would like to see in the future!

Thankies for reading as always,

BN

P.S.- Tenses are a bitch.


	11. Past

**A/N**: What can I say? I just can't seem to stay away! Sorry about the shortness…

**Past**

She cuts into it like a hot knife through butter. Her brain recognizing that memory gap and suddenly filling it with the video footage she accidentally found on the mainframe computer.

It is shock that she feels mainly, along with a sudden sense of sin buried deep in her pores. She wonders why the lasting metallic aura on her body hasn't triggered something her in memory. And now the truth is so naked and obvious that she merely has to glance something to understand. A look. A gesture. A word.

Just tiny cracks lining their faces. She lived in it for an eternity of misunderstanding.

"Good morning Raven." He pipes.

She grunts, mutters and plays Raven. While he talks her finger traces the tiles of the kitchen counter in an attempt to avoid his eyes. She might get lured back into yesterday…

"OJ or tea today?" The plastic face asks her with a toothy grin. She wants to rip it off. 'Hate me' She pleads.

"Tea".

He's more than happy to comply with a murderer.

A cup comes a few minutes later and that is when, as he is gently setting it before her, she catches his eye by accident and overflows.

And the knowing is there.

And the fear is there.

And it's all said and done in a perfect lightening flash.


	12. Decay

He was scratching outside her door again.

Little paws were making soft noises against the wooden frame. He meowed and waited as she picked herself off the sofa and, slid back the safety bolt, and cracked the door open. A small green face poked inside the door to glance up at her, staring through her with great big eyes that were not human. Raven shivered but called him inside anyway.

His lithe form slunk through the small opening, velvet paws padding silently across her floor. He was like a ghost, soundless, fleeting, barely there. If she tried to touch him she felt sure he would pass like smoke through her fingers. She watched him as he stopped by the refrigerator and sat down on his haunches to wait for her.

Raven trembled a little. She got down his food bowl and his water bowl which she had already filled the other day, just in case, and placed them before him. Then, as always, she talked to him. She told him she was lonely. That the roof leaked and the heat didn't always work. That she missed him a lot more than she should and didn't know how she was going to make it alone. She cried the first time he showed up...

But now, she told him, she didn't cry anymore. He glanced up at her with big, wondering eyes and Raven felt her heart clench. Did he know? Somewhere deep down in those gorgeous, green eyes, did he know?

What was it that passed beneath the surface of those dark pupils? Memories? Sympathy?

Or maybe it was just the neurons of his feline brain firing messages back and forth. Messages tell him, the food was good. That this good food came from this lady. That when the hunger pains hit, he should come back to this place, back to her.

She talked to him for the rest of the night. Read her book to him. Sang to him. Told him secrets. He curled up on the foot of the bed and lay there, his ears twitch occasionally which gave her hope that he was listening. She remembered things about him and shared her memories making sure that she laughed occasionally because she knew he always liked that.

Her laugh. A beautiful, vivacious boy. A home and family.

Where did they go?

She touched his fur softly and hated it.

And yet when night came she knew things would be different. That he would stretch out on her chest, and his legs would lengthen and his whiskers would shorten. And when she ran her hand over him it would be hot, feverish skin, twitching beneath her palms. There would be him pushing her knees apart and him filling her and she would gladly let him.

But she learned after the first time to never open her eyes. She knew that when he gripped her tightly and panted against her neck that what was on top of her was the last remaining shred of his humanity. It was the only part of Garfield that the animal had not conquered.

She always cried during this part. The shape of him was there and if she deluded herself enough she could turn his moans into words, into a human voice that called her name. To imagine that she could have had him like this, that he could have loved her and shared his life with her...

That in another circumstance this act could have meant something.

Instead she cried because the thing on top of her was dead. Because he was dead. Because in the morning the only thing she would have would be the paw prints on her floor.


	13. Detective

My stories have been kinda depressing as of late. So I figured it was time to cheer up and try to make my readers smile.

---

Raven's cloaks had been disappearing.

She knew that they went into the washing machine, and then finally the dryer. But when it came time to fold those fresh, warm clothes, the cloaks were nowhere to be found. She was down to two when she began bringing a book with her down to the laundry room to keep an eye on those tumbling clothes.

Naturally, the last two cloaks failed to disappear under her watchful gaze but three of them had gone somewhere and she was pretty sure that someone's hands had been digging through her laundry.

Then, one day while she was sitting by the dryer reading her book they got an alarm for a burglary. Obviously the thief wouldn't be able to take another while he or she was off fighting crime but, much to her frustration, when Raven got back to fold the laundry she came up one cloak short. Interestingly enough, a piece of underwear had gone missing as well. This was quite unacceptable.

She fumed and raged and broke a few light bulbs as she muttered "dirty pervert" under her breath over and over again.

Her next course of action was to materialize in the common room, much to everyone's surprise, and demand an explanation for her missing laundry. Cyborg, snickering quietly, asked her if she had been to her room recently, to which Raven replied she had not but, she growled, if he had something to tell her he should best spit it out now. He held his hands up in a manner which suggested he had nothing to do with the theft, though everyone was having a good time staring at him. After all, Cyborg was quite possibly a dead man.

Flushed with anger, Raven returned to her room then, seeing nothing, stepped outside her door. She returned to the common room, still flushed, but this time from a combination of anger and embarrassment, which really, just translated into more anger. The eyeballs of each Titan immediately glued themselves back on Cyborg as one of the wall panels cracked in two. This man was deader than a corpse.

They ogled and Raven seethed and Cyborg stood there in a confused and terrified kind of way. Of course each of them had seen the underwear that someone had taped to the outside of her door but each of them preferred to be the jury, not the suspect.

The thrashing that followed satisfied Raven's humiliation and anger and thrilled her audience.

Raven was quite pleased when she awoke the next morning to find that three of her four missing cloaks had returned, folded neatly outside her door. There was no note, no explanation, so she gathered them in her arms and tucked them safely away in her closet.

The incident remained small and isolated, and Cyborg's hardware and pride took only a few days to mend. She still didn't understand what he wanted with her cloaks or why the fourth one had failed to return. But the theft had stopped and she no longer had to babysit her laundry.

---

The incident probably would have remained an anonymous burp in their lives, but unfortunately boys will be boys.

It happened that Raven's entrance into the common room one afternoon a week later coincided perfectly with a certain talk Cyborg and Beast Boy were having. Upon hearing the words "floral panties" coming out of Beast Boy's mouth Raven froze, her foot barely inside the door. Whatever he had been going to say after that was cut off as both Cyborg and Beast Boy, glancing up to greet their new arrival, immediately closed their mouths and paled upon finding Raven's stiff expression.

She was busy coming to a conclusion you see.

The panties, she recalled, had been taped backside down, to the door. The only visible part had been the V shaped front, which coincidently had no such floral design. The only part with the design had been the back, the butt part, which had been hidden. For Beast Boy to have knowledge of this "floral" embellishment meant that either he had been so crude as to take the panties down and examine them, or he was the one who had taped them to the door in the first place…

The cogs turned, the gears clicked, and Raven face began to show a dawning realization.

Beastboy's ears went back as Raven told him quietly that she would _love _to speak with him in the hallway. Alone.

He obeyed, walking towards her with the expression of a ruined man, his throat dry, his heart fluttering like the wings of hummingbird.

She was angry, as he knew she would be.

She was disgusted with him, as he hoped she wouldn't be.

After all, he explained, the underwear had gotten tangled in the cloak. It wasn't as if he was a panty pervert. He hesitated when she asked about her cloaks, acting like a trapped animal caught between two large trucks. Then sighing, admitted that it was his idea of a prank. He got a slap on the face for that which he found hurt a lot more than getting slammed into a ceiling or a wall. It stood for her disgust and his shame and her poor opinion of him. He could hardly bear it. Her words stung like his cheek, her angry expression burned its way into his heart.

They parted that day with bad feelings on both sides.

---

Had it not been for Starfire's childlike sense of guilt, Raven would have never known.

She came to Raven late at night, knocking on her door and softly asking if she could come inside for a moment. When the door opened Raven found her standing outside with an expression fit for a kicked puppy.

There were tears, as there usually was whenever Starfire felt guilty about something. And she carried on, weeping and rambling about something until Raven had to give her a few pats on the back just to get her to slow down and make some sense.

Starfire gave a few shuddering sighs before managing to admit that the cloak stealing had been a dare that all of them had agreed on. They each had to steal a cloak from her without being caught and whoever failed or chickened out had to walk around in his or her underwear for 3 days, including during crime fighting procedures. Raven knew that dares and bets were a popular pastime between them and even she had taken part in a few.

Still, upon hearing this crucial piece of information which solved the puzzle, she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Starfire continued to wail about poor Cyborg and Beast Boy who had gotten the brunt of the blame, and soon Raven was feeling just as depressed.

Beast Boy as always, had bungled up his dare and accidently ended up with her panties as well as her cloak. And being conscious of the untold rule, he had refused to rat out his fellow teammates. She groaned and felt a terrible lump of guilt settle in the pit of her stomach.

After managing to somewhat console Starfire with her promises to apologize to each of them (yes, she would take them out for ice cream), she sent the poor girl on her way. However, there was still the matter of confronting Beast Boy about the misunderstanding and apologizing to him for her rash words and quick anger.

---

Fate, being kind to Raven, had it so that a few days later she ran into him alone in the kitchen. The silence was thick for a few moments as her nervousness seemed to get the best of her. He was washing his cereal bowl and she was lingering by the counter hoping that he would speak first so that she wouldn't say something stupid or insensitive right off the bat.

But his eyes were downcast and his expression was sullen and the "hello" she wanted never left his lips. So taking initiative she quietly told him that Starfire had paid her a visit. He nodded and continued to rinse out the cornflakes from the bowl.

Then something in Raven faltered a bit and the words tumbled out of her in little spurts, words about what she had found out, words about how she had made a mistake. There was an apology in there somewhere and she noticed that he kept rinsing out that bowl even though it had been clean for a while. It was as if he wouldn't stop until she told him something real.

Something that meant more than an explanation. Something that said that he mattered to her.

She coughed awkwardly. They both watched the water fill the bowl and flow over.

He told her he had the last missing cloak.

She blinked, slightly stunned, having forgotten about the last missing piece of the puzzle. There was a moment where she struggled with this information, and then with a dry throat she managed to croak out a "why?"

It was simple, he explained calmly. It smelled like her.

The water was cascading down the sides of the bowl, and they were both staring it. The heat was pooling in her cheeks and in her stomach, like warm honey. It melted something inside Raven and on the outside her eyes softened.

"Keep it."


End file.
